When contemplating opposition, it’s easy to get derailed into thinking that, by its inherent nature of defiance, it’s the starting point of original ideas. On the contrary, sheer and obstinate opposition is as close to imitation by replication as it gets. In its constant conflict with its object of desire, opposition can’t help but constantly reference it, constantly narrate itself in relation to it, constantly making love to it.
Remember, we defined the object of imitation as our object of desire. After all, it catches our attention, invades our inner world, and inhabits us so vividly that it compels us to create something in its likeness outside of ourselves. Opposition, while granting the illusion of individuality and independence, keeps us and our framework bound to our object of desire, forever staring at it for cues and prompts to guide our journey.
Let me tell you a tragic story of unrequited love. We’ll call our lovebirds Shoppy and Heggy. Once upon a time, Shoppy fell in love with Heggy. So in love Shoppy was, he planned to be at the same place and at the same time as Heggy. Shoppy wrote to Heggy the most passionate love letters—his best work in fact. So enthralled he was, so consumed by his passion, he felt powerless and at its mercy. Heggy, on the other hand, was impavid. If he cared, we don’t know. Maybe he was indifferent, maybe he was amused. How can we tell? Whatever his feelings and whatever his thoughts on the matter, he kept to himself.
Arthur Schopenhauer was obsessed with Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. When teaching at the University of Berlin, Schopenhauer requested to schedule his classes at the same time as Hegel’s. He wrote his best work, The World as Will and Representation, in direct opposition to Hegel’s ideas. His opposition to Hegel was compulsive, almost uncontrollable, to the point that his insults in On the Basis of Morality cost him a prize in a contest in which he was the only contender. Schopenhauer’s obsession with Hegel not only shaped his philosophy but also limited it, as he continuously framed his ideas in contrast to Hegel’s.
Schopenhauer’s story is a great example of how opposition can be a creative tool, and also a trap that’s easy to fall into and hard to escape. His obsessive antagonism to Hegel didn’t just shape his work—it constrained it. For example, Schopenhauer and Hegel were both at least partially inspired by Plato. But Schopenhauer’s relentless drive to counter Hegel led him to a negative interpretation of Platonic thought. Where Plato saw the world of forms as the ideal and unchanging essence behind the material world, Schopenhauer focused on the darker aspects of existence. Where Plato saw the forms as ideals to aspire to, Schopenhauer saw them as unreachable perfections that highlighted the flaws and suffering inherent in the world. This pessimistic view turned what could have been a constructive engagement with Platonic philosophy and with the world into a limiting and self-sabotaging endeavor.
Peter Thiel, the founder of PayPal and Palantir, is also deeply influenced by Platonic thought, but his approach is more positive and forward-looking. For Thiel, the world of forms represents ideals that serve as guiding stars for innovation and progress—goals to actively pursue and manifest in the real world. This Platonic influence drives his desire to challenge the status quo, unlocking new possibilities and building a better future.
However, like Schopenhauer and many philosophers before him, Thiel is a complex figure. While his sense of duty to the planet and the future of humanity fuels much of his work, he also wrestles with issues of control and dominance, as illustrated by his role in the Gawker lawsuit. Influenced by René Girard’s theories of mimetic desire, Thiel understands the dynamics of competition and imitation, channeling them into a creative force aimed at transformation rather than mere dominance. His engagement with Nietzschean thought further reinforces his belief in the power of will and the creation of new values. This blend of Platonic aspiration with a pragmatic, sometimes assertive approach to power reveals a duality in Thiel—a conflict that strives for a more ambitious and ethical reality while navigating the complexities of influence.
Plato was also a complex man, inhabited by conflict and in conflict with his spacetime.
Plato himself was contrarian by nature.
Plato often took positions that directly opposed the prevailing views of his contemporary Athens, whether critiquing democracy, presenting his theory of Forms in contrast to materialism, or launching philosophical attacks against the Sophists. In fact, one could argue that his contrarianism gave birth to his most significant and consequential ideas.
Take the allegory of the cave, one of Plato’s most influential postulations. In it, Plato describes prisoners chained in a cave, only able to see shadows cast on a wall by objects behind them. These shadows represent the prisoners’ perception of reality. The allegory can be interpreted as a direct critique of the Sophists. The Sophists were skilled rhetoricians who believed in the relativity of truth. Plato strongly opposed their relativism, arguing that their focus on rhetoric and persuasion over truth led to a corrupt society where wrong was made right, and knowledge was devalued.
In this light, the shadows in the cave represent the superficial knowledge and persuasive arguments that the Sophists offered, while the journey out of the cave symbolizes the philosopher’s quest for true knowledge, which transcends mere opinion or rhetorical skill.
Throughout his famous Republic, he embodies the spirit of contrarianism—challenging accepted norms and offering alternative, often radical, perspectives. In it, he derides democracy, social mobility, public opinion, free speech, and the elevation of individual freedom.
Plato’s ideas have profoundly shaped Western philosophy, informing not just Hegel and Schopenhauer, but also modern thinkers like Peter Thiel, who embraces contrarian views in business and technology. This influence can be seen as the root of many oppositional discourses that seek to challenge the status quo.
Plato is the first true American Contrarian, and the ideological father of all contrarians.
Yes, even yours, reading the book, and thinking “not my ideological father.” Yes, you, poking holes in my every word at my every turn. You are reading, so you know.
The joke’s on you.
The joke’s on Plato.
The United States is a land of rebels and innovators, where questioning authority and conventional wisdom is celebrated. True contrarians may be born in other countries, like Peter Thiel or Christopher Hitchins, but they all end up moving here. The very elements Plato critiqued are what make the U.S. a haven for contrarians. In a sense, the U.S. has taken Plato’s criticisms and turned them into strengths, celebrating the kind of intellectual dissent and debate that Plato feared might undermine a stable society.
The U.S. was founded on rebellion and contrarian thinking—rejecting monarchy, embracing self-governance, and establishing a society based on rights and freedoms that were revolutionary at the time. This spirit of contrarianism is embedded in the country’s DNA, making it an ideal place for those who, like Plato, are willing to challenge prevailing ideas but within a context that encourages such challenges.
While Plato sought a more orderly and hierarchical society, the U.S. thrives on the complexity and unpredictability of its democratic system. This complexity invites contrarians to question, innovate, and propose alternative ways of thinking, creating a dynamic environment that contrasts sharply with Plato’s more controlled vision.
Plato’s ideas are deeply intertwined with those of Ralph Waldo Emerson, the leader of Transcendentalism, the philosophy that crosses every American contrarian. And I say “crosses” because a contrarian that fully acquires their ideals from a particular book or a particular teacher, isn’t really a contrarian. And that’s perfect, because in the U.S. of America, you can learn about Transcendentalism and Contrarianism by walking its streets, by watching its people, by living its landscape.
You can learn about it by reading the trees.
For Emerson, education should come from books, yes, and from action and experience, sure. But above all, he believed education and insight come from nature and from within. Transcendentalism, with its call to find truth within one’s self (an echo of Socrates’ and Plato’s daimonion,) in nature and in a simple life, inspired many, including Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, Nietzsche and William James. From here, it would be reasonable of me to continue the narrative towards Henry Thoreau, a beloved American figure who has the distinction of uniting the full American political and cultural landscape in its admiration of his artistic and scientific works, in his individualistic courage, and his consummated love for nature. But this is an unreasonable chapter about unreasonable people, so I will choose John Muir instead.
John Muir was both an oddball and a man of his time. Like many a contrarian after him, he was a college dropout. He is mainly known as a proficient and influential preservationist, writer, botanist, and geologist, but before all that, he was also a self-taught inventor and an engineering savant. The Proclaimers, in their song I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles), say,
I would walk five hundred miles
And I would walk five hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door,
but while they sang the song, John Muir walked the walk. Literally. One day (escaping his father’s harsh abuse), he simply started walking. Like an old-timey Forrest Gump, he walked one thousand miles from Kentucky to the Gulf of Mexico. He wrote a book about it, too, probably because there weren’t blogs at that time.
During his walk, Muir fell in love with nature. When his serendipitous trip took him to San Francisco, he couldn’t bear the frantic energy of the city, so he escaped it, fortuitously, to the Sierra Nevada, which would become, in his heart, his true home, and to Yosemite, where he would end up living a total of six years of his life. In his journals, he recorded everything he saw and experienced, from flowers to storms and earthquakes. He also wrote about his feelings, about how he could see God in nature, and about the divine Glory he perceived in light. He believed the world was interpreted by the brain through the senses, a realization advanced for his time. In Europe, the impressionist movement, led by artists like Degas and Manet, was also concerned with sensory experience. The impressionists challenged academia and scholastic traditions in many ways, but most importantly, by focusing on light—how it moves through surfaces and how it’s captured through sense.
One light.
Two perceptions.
A shared appreciation.
A shared spirit of wildness and devotion.
John Muir lived an interesting life. By the time he was thirty something, he was basically a homeless guy in the Sierra barely getting by, forgetting to eat while contemplating rocks and vegetation. At some point, things changed, his writings became famous, and he became a celebrity. Celebrities came to the Sierra to visit him. A president visited the Sierra and visited him.
Theodore Roosevelt was persuaded by John Muir to create the National Park system.
John Muir is not the most famous transcendentalist. He is not the most digestible transcendentalist. It would have been easier for me, more palatable,
more politically correct,
to choose to talk about Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau is as close to unimpeachable as a historical figure can be. He drove the trains for the Underground Railroad, for clover’s sake.
But reality,
my reality,
is that you know them by their fruits. Contrarians, that is. While other artists and thinkers of the world who delve in opposition might or might not bear fruits in the real world
(sometimes they only delve in the world of ideas, and maybe that’s good enough)
the true American Contrarian gets into the nitty gritty of reality. Of taking a stance, even an imperfect stance. Of changing the world.
Henry David Thoreau took all the right stances. He also died young, in his forties. Who knows, if he had had more time, he might have given you reasons to cancel him, too.
John Muir wasn’t perfect everywhere all the time. He held racist views at some point in his life. But later, as he matured, as he learned, as he gained wisdom, he changed his thinking.
“We all flow from one fountain Soul. All are expressions of one Love. God does not appear, and flow out, only from narrow chinks and round bored wells here and there in favored races and places.”
he wrote.
But that’s not enough. That’s not enough for some. It’s not enough that in the end he got it right. For some people he needed to be perfect in the lens of his time, and of that time, and of our time, all the time, at all times.
Who can fit that bill?
Not a contrarian. Not someone who asks the uncomfortable questions. Not someone who points out that maybe, just maybe, the emperor has no clothes.
Not an abolitionist.
Not an innovator.
Not an artist.
Because to get it right, you have to be willing to go out there and get it wrong in front of everyone.
John Muir has been criticized because the creation of the National Park system sometimes displaced people. Sometimes it displaced First Nations people. Sometimes it displaced poor people. Sometimes it displaced families.
Okay, fair enough. The other option is not to have national parks. The other option is to have human developments everywhere. Human developments, that phenomenon that the people who usually point the finger to John Muir also love to point the finger to.
So which one is it? Take a stand, you can’t have it two ways.
(I can have it three ways!)
Hahahahaha.
No.
Criticizing from the sidelines is comfortable. Dogmatically deciding that something is right or wrong is comfortable. Because sometimes, deciding that something is absolutely right or absolutely wrong, is what we do to stop thinking. Sometimes we decide that something is absolutely right or absolutely wrong to find intellectual respite.
Sometimes, right, wrong, and reductive statements are where thoughts go to nap.
Sometimes, right and wrong are where thinking goes to die.
I’m not a moral relativist. I’m not a Sophist. I believe every point of view is worth considering, but I don’t believe every point of view is worth being considered worthwhile.
In the case of national parks, we are confronted with the fact that in the real world, things seldom are clean and tidy. When you turn a lever over here, there’s sure to be a reaction over there. If you are not thinking and considering the system as a whole, the reaction will be a terrible accident, a catastrophe,
an unintended consequence.
Real life is akin to an engineering system and it exists in dynamic equilibrium.
The most righteous laws,
the most virtuous action,
the most helpful products
pose the chance of unforeseeable consequences, pose the chance of causing harm to someone, somewhere, sometime.
When you try to avoid causing any harm you become stagnant, and you sacrifice the opportunity to do any good.
I know it because my biggest fear is to cause harm so I try to consider every possible option and I become immobilized and stagnant. To the friends and the gods that try to help me grow, I appear insufferable.
To do any good, you have to have the courage to act. You have to have the courage to know what you stand for, what you’d fight for, what you’d die for.
I know what things I’d fight for and what thhings I’d die for. My kids and their dad. Democracy. Capitalism, or the right to pursue happiness. Freedom of speech. Freedom of movement. The equal right of all peoples to decide what their lives are going to be. Argentina.
This beautiful country I love to call home, the United States of America.
You.
John Muir took a stance. He knew what he lived for. He knew what he’d die for.
Nature. The Sierra. Yosemite.
With his life, he broadened our understanding and our appreciation of the American landscape. And with his death, he lit a fire in the hearts of all Americans who saw how carelessly and swiftly the Hetch Hetchy Valley was flooded and destroyed when Congress voted to allow building a dam in it, even though Hetch Hetchy sits in protected land. John Muir died feeling forever defeated over the fortune of Hetch Hetchy, but his seven year fight over the valley, and his death itself, started a movement that ensured that National Parks couldn’t be carelessly affected by a changing President or by a corrupt Congress ever again. He lived a life of devotion to God and to nature, and his death was the ultimate act of devotion, forever protecting his beloved Sierra and the most beautiful lands in the country for us all.
A true American contrarian, he thought deeply about things, he sought inspiration in the world, he took uncomfortable stances mindless of any pleasantries, and in doing so, changed the world.
Another American contrarian who took uncomfortable stances, loved the Sierra, was sometimes considered unpleasant, and changed the world, is Steve Jobs.
There’s no overstating how meaningful Steve Jobs is to me. I cried yesterday when I watched his famous 2005 Stanford speech. I cried when I first saw his Think Different ad many years ago. I cried when his biography by Walter Isaacson came out and I read it in a bookstore, during my lunch break. The bookstore employees must have thought I was “peculiar”, visiting the store everyday, reading through a waterfall of tears.
Steve Jobs inspired me.
Steve Jobs inspires me.
He has inspired many over the years. He himself was inspired by the Whole Earth Catalog, a product of the contrarian counterculture. He was inspired by his dad’s love of making things. He was inspired by the beauty of the arts at Reeds College. He was inspired by the simplicity of zen philosophy.
Like many an American contrarian before him
like many a transcendentalist,
his creative journey started as a pilgrimage through the world. His random pilgrimage echoes Muir’s seemingless aimless and pointless one-thousand-mile walk. In his four-year adventure, Jobs picked up a few things: apples, yogi and Indian philosophy, a Zen teacher, calligraphy, drug fueled insights and friends. He used all these disparate elements to create Apple. Each and all these elements contributed to his success.
These elements contributed to his taste.
Steve Jobs’s critics often cite how he wasn’t an engineer, how he wasn’t a designer, how he was just a phony taking advantage of other people’s work. Taking advantage of Steve Wozniak’s work, of Jony Ive’s work. I adore Woz because, how could I not? Jony Ive seems super talented. I ask, however, what have they done in the absence of Steve Jobs? What have they done on their own?
Not much.
Steve had impeccable taste. He had an intuition for what worked and what didn’t. His obsession for text formatting must have seemed annoying at the time, but it’s one of the things that differentiated the Mac. It’s one of the things that influenced the world of desktop publishing and changed the world.
He also had a clear vision of what he wanted, he had boundless, focused drive, and he had an undeniable gift to inspire people to follow him, to work for him, to buy what he was selling.
Steve had a complex personality. He could be an asshole. People have talked extensively about his violent outbursts. He has also shown capacity to be an asshole over long periods of time, as he was with his daughter Lisa. However, when you read the accounts of people who worked extensively with him, people like Ed Catmull or Tim Cook, you understand his predicament a little more.
You’ll see, most people don’t think.
Most people think that thinking the same thing over and over means thinking a lot. It is thinking, I guess, and it’s a worthy cognitive process. Repetitive, replicative thinking is how we learn and how we approximate stability and consensus. However, repetitive thinking is to thinking as walking is to training for a marathon. Walking is great for you and your wellness, but simply walking won’t win you an Olympic medal for running.
Steve thought deeply, fast, all the time. Thinking deeply, fast, all the time is exhausting.
I should know.
When you think deeply and fast all the time, and you question people’s ideas, they get defensive. If you have a clear, focused vision, and are thinking deeply about something someone is bringing up to you, that’s hard work. If when you offer insight, they respond defensively, it’s maddening.
It’s infuriating.
Tim Cook and Ed Catmull didn’t respond defensively. Many times they didn’t agree with Steve. Many times they objected to his objections. But they were thoughtful. And Steve was appreciative of this thoughtfulness. Ed Catmull mentions in his book Creativity, Inc. that when they didn’t reach consensus, after months of comings and goings, Steve would side with him (Ed) and let it be. Steve would choose to be the big person.
Steve was appreciative of Ed’s thoughtful dialogue. He was appreciative of this dialectical process.
It makes sense that Plato is the first American contrarian because he is the father of the dialectical process. For about two hundred thousand years, human thought and innovation had been random: random replication, random imitation, fortuitous discovery. It had been pre-philosophical. It had been pre-Socratic. And then the creative triad that is Socrates, Plato and Aristotle gave us the first tool of philosophy, dialectics. This tool became a foundation for the Sciences, as it emphasized evidence and observation; for the Arts, as it encouraged questioning forms and seeking deeper meaning; and for the Soul, as it led individuals to explore ethics, morality, and self-awareness.
The dialectical process is opposition itself.
Or rather, it’s the systematic process of engaging in conversation with your object of desire. It can be a pleasant exchange, like the Frankfurt school intended, where thinkers such as Adorno and Horkheimer engaged in thoughtful critiques of culture, aiming to unearth hidden power dynamics. It can be a principled debate, as it’s often with American contrarians like Christopher Hitchens, who fiercely challenged societal norms through his polemics. Or it can be a fight to the death, like it is with Marxists and Neo-Marxists, where revolutionary thinkers such as Trotsky or Lenin saw no room for compromise in their ideological battles.
A scientist that embodies the American contrarian is Barbara McClintock. Her journey, as the journey of contrarians often does, started by venturing into the external world to better understand the internal one. Her journey took her from a field of corn to the workings of DNA. Her research contradicted the prevailing genetic models, so the scientific community dismissed it, and her. She continued her work with conviction and patience, even when facing skepticism. Her quiet courage was rewarded: she is the only woman to receive an unshared Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine. Her research in genetics changed the field: she was the first one to map corn’s DNA, and her work on transposable elements (jumping genes) was groundbreaking. She credits her being an outsider (a woman in a field dominated by men) as giving her the freedom to look at things, at research subjects, from a different point of view.
Just like good contrarians do.
On the other, more theoretical hand, the Frankfurt School of thought was concerned with how culture and art functioned within Capitalist societies. Thinkers like Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer, and Walter Benjamin used critical theory to highlight the pitfalls of Capitalism. Critical theory analyzes the true significance of the dominant narratives, which to them emanate from the bourgeois. In a way, it goes back to Plato and the true forms. Because it focuses on analysis, it elegantly points out “the good and the bad.” This was an unintended consequence of its members being academics preoccupied with keeping their jobs and funding.
Richard Strauss, a prominent German composer contemporary to the Frankfurt school, is also a great example of how opposition can happen from within the system it contains. Strauss was known for his operas (Der Rosenkavalier, Salome) and tone poems (Also sprach Zarathustra, Don Juan.) His horn concertos are legendary, and his influence in the music of the 20th century is impossible to understate.
Why he stayed put in Nazi Germany, I don’t understand. Why didn’t he quietly flee, why didn’t he send his Jewish extended family away? All questions easy to ask from the comfort of my little room somewhere in East Austin where I’m taking the luxury of almost two months by myself to simply think ideas and confabulate about the lives and works of humanity’s brightest luminaries, such as Strauss. What do I know about the complexities of being extremely famous and significant to a society whose new framework makes you and your family extremely vulnerable?
When Hitler came to power Strauss was almost seventy years old. Keep in mind that this was a time when seventy was the new ninety, unlike the current Shakira and Hugh Jackman times where seventy is the new fifteen. So maybe he felt too old to leave his homeland. Strauss had strong personal and familial ties to Germany. He was also a patriot and saw himself as a custodian of German music and culture. Maybe he miscalculated how apolitical he could remain within a regime where everything, even something as simple as a salutation, had political connotation. Maybe some of these reasons influenced his decision. Maybe all of these reasons did. We don’t know with certainty.
We do know he paid a price. He survived, and so did his Jewish daughter-in-law and her sons. He did, however, lose as many as twenty-five relatives in concentration camps.
Being the foremost German musician of his time meant that he was inevitably instated as the president of the Reichsmusikkammer (State Music Bureau,) which was seen as tacit support of the regime. Yet, while not a vocal opponent of the Nazis, he resisted in quieter ways. He avoided any Nazi greeting. He kept collaborating with Jewish librettist Stefan Zweig (who was banned) until he couldn’t. He worked with Zweig and he kept him billed on the program. He kept playing Mendelssohn, Debussy and Mahler (who were banned.)
Even the works he wrote for the Reich were quiet acts of rebellion in themselves. With Zweig he wrote a light opera, Die schweigsame Frau (The Silent Woman,) a comedy of sorts. The opera was banned after playing thrice. As the Nazi period went on, Strauss compositions became more dissonant and complex. Pieces like Metamorphosen (1945), a string work reflecting his deep mourning over the destruction of German culture, are filled with harmonic tension, and an agonizing beauty. This was a subtle but significant act of rebellion, as the Nazi regime promoted more straightforward, folk-inspired music that fit their ideological narratives. Strauss chose to defiantly continue to explore a more modern and often discordant style, even when this directly opposed the Reich’s directives.
I have always liked Richard Strauss’ music, especially his work after the Nazi regime. He survived the Reich by four years. In that last period, his work abandoned the somber, modernist, dissonant tones he had adopted in his works for the Reich. Instead, he re-adopted his earlier sound, more classical, more romantic. Considered among the greatest works of his career, the Vier letzte Lieder (the Four Last Songs) were composed in 1948, near the end of his life. These songs—set to poems by Hermann Hesse and Joseph von Eichendorff—are filled with themes of farewell, acceptance, and a longing for peace. They are lush and lyrical, with a sense of serenity and resignation that contrasts with the turbulence of his earlier, wartime works. The orchestration is rich and balanced, reflecting Strauss’s mature style.
The songs are often interpreted as his farewell to life, art, and the world he had known.
I have always liked Richard Strauss’ music, but researching him for the book, I have fallen in love with him, a little bit. His quiet resistance from within the system, aiming to save his family, his colleagues, his homeland, and the music he so loved, echoes the quiet fight my own father fought.
What can I say.
I have daddy issues.
When the military government rose to power in 1976, my dad was working in the justice system. He was an assistant DA for the federal appeals court in my city. An often-overlooked reality of the military government in Argentina in the late seventies is that people “went to knock on the doors of the barracks.” People were tired of the democratic government led by Isabel Perón and the ‘left wing’ terrorist groups.
If you went to Argentina today, you wouldn’t guess that Perón’s government was proto fascist, flirted with former Nazis, jailed dissidents, and censored beloved figures like Tato Bores and Mirtha Legrand. Mirtha Legrand is the most trad-wife figure that ever trad-wived. I mean, she is a trailblazer even today at ninety six years old, sure. After all, she started as “just a pretty actress” and against all odds has been an enduring fixture in Argentina’s TV and a consistent shaper of Argentina’s public opinion. She is a strong woman. But when your fascist government is so rigidly fascist that you have to ban Mirtha Legrand, a conservative who managed to stay on TV through the military government, you know that you might be fascisting too hard.
Peronistas today will argue for hours that Peronismo is left-wing. And they can argue for hours. What’s undeniable is that Isabel Perón´s government established the Triple A (Argentine Anticommunist Alliance,) a paramilitary group that within its first year of existence murdered around three hundred people. On the other side, you had different flavors of “left wing,” mostly represented by the ERP (People’s Revolutionary Army) and the Montoneros (Peronist) group. Both groups wanted basically the same thing.
They wanted power.
They wanted to seize/maintain power by
– Seducing and/or eliminating the elite class,
– Dominating the middle class through terror,
– Appealing to the lower class through populism.
You are going to find all kinds of narratives and explanations, but at some point the explanation ends, because the bloodshed and terror caused by both sides was monstrous and bewildering.
Both sides.
One side had the force of the state machine.
That’s it. That was the difference. Not the means. Not the aim.
The machine.
It’s true: having the force of the state machine makes the crimes committed by Perón crimes against humanity.
Just don’t tell Peronistas.
And so the people went to the barracks to beg that the military intervene
against the terrorists and against the government.
And they did. Except it was, in essence, more of the same thing. Now we know that both Isabel and the military government were part of Operation Condor, a covert multi-state effort meant to keep communism out of South America.
It was horrifying.
There were the famous death flights. Tens of thousands human lives
thirty thousand human bodies
were disappeared.
The military rose to power in 1976, and by the end of 1977 both ERP and Montoneros had but vanished.
I guess the machine makes all the difference.
Mario Firmenich, the commander of the Montoneros, said in 2000, “in a country that has experienced a civil war, everybody has blood on their hands.”
That’s what the guilty say.
That’s what the evil say.
Because after the military government was done with the terrorist groups, they didn’t want to leave power and give way to democracy.
They wanted power.
They wanted to maintain power by
-Seducing the elite class,
-Dominating the middle and lower class through terror.
-Controlling the narrative through propaganda and fear.
They banned books. They targeted high school students. They targeted college students. They targeted professionals. They targeted foreigners (always a big no-no.) They targeted peaceful dissidents. They targeted pregnant women so they could steal their kids. They targeted people who owned houses they coveted and things they liked.
They targeted anyone and everyone.
And people were unhappy about this turn of events. Now that the terrorists were gone, why wasn’t the military gone, too?
There. That’s the “both sides.”
The military government and the Marxist guerrilla groups defined themselves in opposition to each other. The military needed the presence of a “subversive” threat to justify its authoritarian rule, its extreme measures, and the human rights abuses it dabbled on. The Marxist groups needed an oppressive regime to justify their own existence, their calls for armed struggle, and their vision of a revolutionary future.
Once the guerrillas were gone, the military raison d’etre was gone too. But they weren’t. It took the embarrassing defeat against the British in Malvinas for the Argentine people to finally grow the balls to demand a return to democracy.
And democracy returned. And the military government’s atrocities were tried. The junta trials are an exceptional example of a country somehow reckoning with its self-inflicted atrocities.
Throughout the whole ordeal, throughout the Peronist government, throughout the terrorist attacks, throughout the military domination, and throughout the trials, it was people like my dad who kept the institutions that provided some minimum human rights guarantees.
I was born one year into the military government. Since very little, I could hear the fearful whispers
detenido liberada desaparecida encontrado chupada
habeas corpus.
My dad had no political affiliation. He did have a focused passion for justice, fairness and the common good. So, you know,
he was a rebel.
Instead of wearing a suit to work in court, like everyone else, he wore khakis and these cotton t-shirts that he dyed himself in bright colors. Instead of driving a new car he drove an old used car. He would wake up really early in the morning so he could buy vegetables at the farmer’s market and bring them to poor people.
During the dirty war years, he quietly resisted the pressure from inside the system to give in, and instead, relentlessly pushed so that the basic rights that were keeping the country from falling into complete chaos remained in place.
In the transition to democracy and during the trials, my dad put it all on the line.
My dad put us all on the line.
Something that is never spoken about the transition to democracy and the trials is that the first four years were unsteady. Everybody knew that the military could take power at any time.
There were negotiations.
It’s easy to criticize the amnesty laws that were set sometime after, the Full Stop Law and the Law of Due Obedience, which prevented further prosecutions. However, democracy was at stake.
The junta trials are an exceptional example of a country somehow reckoning with its self-inflicted atrocities. The part of the story that’s often neglected is the one that talks about the discreet heroism of the people who conducted the trials: the judges, the prosecutors, the secretaries, almost every person involved
(except the defense)
received
death threats
bomb threats
we will kill your family threats
from both sides, from all sides.
My dad’s best friend committed suicide so he wouldn’t put his family through it, since he was a DA. My dad’s boss took a leave. Many prominent judges decided it was a great moment to leave the public sector.
My dad, Angel Juan Varisco Bonaparte, put a bunch of military criminals on trial.
A bunch of torturers.
Once I was told he’s the DA who tried the most torturers at the time, but how to know?
History is written by the victorious.
My dad wasn’t victorious. He missed out on career advancement and on political capitalization.
You know who were the victorious?
Both sides.
Leaders in the fascist and military government and in the terrorist “left” found different kinds of common ground, forged alliances, and amassed political power. They got to rewrite a history with bouts of heroism and amnesia, whatever served them best at any given time. Often, they would even criticize the one institution that held the country together at a high cost for its members,
the justice system.
And you know what? The saddest part of writing about this and researching this subject is not the unfairness, my lost childhood, or my gone-too-soon dad.
It’s the kids.
Adolescence is a time of profound transformation, where rebellion becomes a rite of passage. It’s not just a social phenomenon; it’s a psychological necessity. Rebellion allows teenagers to separate from their parents’ values, beliefs, and rules, giving them the space to forge their own identity. This process can manifest in various ways, from exploring new ideas and lifestyles to engaging in political activism. For some, embracing radical ideologies like Marxism or joining revolutionary movements offers a powerful means to differentiate themselves from the older generation, often seen as complicit or complacent.
In the late 1970s, the UK and the US saw the rise of the punk movement, a visceral response to economic decline, rampant unemployment, and political corruption. In the UK, the economic crisis, strikes, and dissatisfaction with the government fueled a sense of disillusionment, while in the US, distrust grew in the wake of scandals like Watergate. The punk movement emerged as a fierce rejection of the existing consumerist culture and authority, channeling the anger and frustration of a generation. With its raw, unfiltered ethos, punk rejected the polished and commodified culture dominating mainstream media, offering teens an authentic outlet for their rage. The movement’s “Do It Yourself” (DIY) attitude was more than just a slogan—it was a call to action. Teenagers formed their own bands, created zines, and fashioned their own clothes, building a community that celebrated individuality and defiance.
Back in the 1970s, punk bands like the Sex Pistols and The Clash openly criticized the government, Capitalism, and social inequalities, echoing some themes found in Marxist critique but with a more nihilistic and confrontational edge. It also offered a space for marginalized voices, including working-class youth, to express their frustrations and demand change. Their rebelliousness was more confrontational and more political than that of The Beatles or Elvis, demanding an overhaul of the entire system rather than merely rejecting cultural norms.
But this wasn’t the first time youth culture disrupted the status quo. Decades earlier, Elvis Presley and The Beatles signaled a seismic shift, marking the rise of youth culture as a distinct and influential social force. Elvis’s provocative dance moves and rock ‘n’ roll style challenged the moral codes of the conservative 1950s, causing shockwaves among parents who saw his behavior as scandalous and rebellious. He gave young people a way to express their dissatisfaction with the rigid norms of their time, offering them freedom through music. The Beatles followed suit, with their mop-top haircuts and energetic songs that broke away from the conformity of post-war society. Their influence wasn’t just musical—it was cultural, symbolizing the youth’s desire for independence and self-expression.
The rebellion led by Elvis and The Beatles wasn’t merely about style; it intersected with larger social movements. As they captivated the youth, the civil rights movement and the sexual revolution gained momentum, showing how rebellion in youth culture often becomes a catalyst for broader societal shifts. Music, style, and cultural defiance became intertwined with political action, and for the first time, youth culture was recognized as a potent force capable of shaping the world.
These patterns of youth rebellion persist today, but the forms have evolved. From climate activism led by figures like Greta Thunberg to the rise of digital activism, today’s teens continue the tradition of questioning the status quo. With social media as their megaphone, they mobilize global movements, demanding change on issues like racial justice, climate policy, and gender equality. While the platforms and methods differ from those of Elvis or the punks, the underlying spirit remains the same: rebellion as a means to reshape the world they inherit.
Whether through political movements like Marxism or cultural ones like punk, teens often act as catalysts for change. They naturally question the values and assumptions of the previous generation, pushing society to reconsider what is acceptable and what’s possible, with fresh eyes, pure hearts, and blind courage.
Fresh eyes. Pure hearts. Blind courage.
In Argentina, terrorist Marxist ideologists and leaders saw the goodest parts in kids and said
there, that’s where we’ll attack, that’s how we’ll make them cannon fodder.
Sometimes it was their students. Sometimes it was somebody else’s kids.
Sometimes it was their kids.
Marxism holds a special appeal for teenagers because it challenges authority, dismantling systems of oppression and fighting for social justice. These ideas align with the developmental stage of adolescence, where teens are naturally questioning the status quo. The idealistic aspect of Marxism
the promise of a better, more just world
resonates with teens’ desire for meaning and purpose. Teens are often more willing to believe in the possibility of radical change and can see Marxist ideas as a path to create a more equitable society.
On September 16th, 1976, in Buenos Aires, ten kids ages
sixteen seventeen eighteen
were abducted from their homes
tortured and raped
only four
came
but they’ll never be back.
Karl Marx was a rich, bright kid who empathized with the proletariat and who ended up living from the money of his Capitalist relatives.
His major work, Das Kapital, synthesizes Hegel’s dialectics, French utopian socialism and British political economy.
In all fairness, his object of desire were the lower, oppressed classes who at the time, around 1850, were doing quite poorly. They were doing horribly.
Or rather, his object of desire was Capitalism and its effects on workers, which led him to co-author The Communist Manifesto with Friedrich Engels.
Karl Marx believed that a violent revolution was necessary to overthrow the Capitalist system, which he saw as fundamentally exploitative. He believed that the ruling class (the bourgeoisie) would never willingly give up power or wealth; therefore, the working class (the proletariat) must seize it through revolutionary (forceful) means.
Marxism, like Plato’s philosophy, aims for an ideal society. Marx envisioned a classless, stateless society where the means of production are owned collectively. His ideas are fundamentally revolutionary (confrontational), calling for the overthrow of existing Capitalist structures, which he saw as inherently oppressive. Unlike Plato, Marx believed in the power of the proletariat (the working class) to rise-up and take control, but both share a concern for an equitable social order, albeit through very different methods.
Plato imagines an ideal society governed by Philosopher-Kings who are wise, just, and possess a deep understanding of Truth. He is concerned with creating a just and harmonious society where individuals play roles suited to their nature and abilities. However, his vision is hierarchical and authoritarian, advocating for a rigid class structure and the control of education, culture, and even thought by the ruling class to maintain order. While he believes that Philosopher-Kings would rule reluctantly, motivated by wisdom rather than self-interest, this idealism doesn’t prevent his system from laying the groundwork for more oppressive regimes in practice.
Plato criticizes democracy. He thinks it would lead to chaos and mob rule. He believes individuals can only prioritize their own desires over the common good. His solution is a more controlled and “enlightened” state, where the elite few make decisions for the many. This perspective can be seen as laying the groundwork for authoritarian or totalitarian regimes that claim to know what is best for the people.
In some ways, Marxism in practice—particularly in its more authoritarian forms—echoes Plato’s vision of a controlled society led by an elite few. Leninist and Stalinist regimes justified their control of all aspects of life—economics, politics, education, culture—as necessary to maintain order and achieve the ideal communist state. This resembles Plato’s concept of Philosopher-Kings who make decisions for the greater good, with less regard for individual freedoms. However, Marx’s vision initially diverged from Plato’s. Marx critiqued utopian socialism for being too idealistic, believing his analysis was scientifically grounded and pragmatic. He saw the revolution as a means to liberate humanity rather than a path towards creating a new oppressive elite.
Under leaders like Lenin, Stalin, and Mao, Marxist-inspired regimes employed violent tactics, mass repression, and purges to maintain control and “guide” society toward the communist ideal. These actions might be seen as reflecting Plato’s authoritarian tendencies, but in a much more extreme and violent form. Plato’s vision didn’t advocate mass violence, but his acceptance of a rigid, controlled society provided a philosophical justification that was twisted to support such actions.
Marx advocated for revolution, but the violent, authoritarian interpretations of Marxism that emerged in the 20th century diverged significantly from his vision of a self-governing, classless society. Marx believed his ideas were rational and based on a scientific analysis, yet the execution of Marxist ideas often contradicted this, resulting in regimes that were far more authoritarian and violent than Marx likely intended.
Both sides.
It makes sense that George Orwell wrote Animal Farm and 1984 back-to-back. They show how both sides—whether totalitarian or ostensibly revolutionary—can end up perpetuating cycles of control, fear, and destruction. The brutality of the totalitarian regimes of the 20th century, left, right, and side to side, and the way ideologies can twist into oppressive and violent realities is heartbreaking. Orwell went from his native Britain to Spain to fight with the Revolution against the francoist forces. There, he saw and suffered the disorder, the conflict and the betrayal within the Marxist-inspired faction. It’s heartbreaking because all that pettiness allowed the Franco Regime to come to life.
The Franco Regime didn’t have the efficiency of Hitler’s Reich.
It was more
medieval.
And it lasted four decades. And it could have been avoided, but, you know,
details.
Marxist-inspired thinkers are often at odds and in conflict with other Marxist-inspired thinkers and with the world. Often over details. They are not at odds with Marxist totalitarian states, though. They don’t live in Marxist totalitarian states, though. For some reason, they prefer liberal democracies, which they relentlessly criticize.
The joke is on Marxist-inspired thinkers.
The societies they both choose to live in and to oppose, instead of getting their feels hurt, listened and took note. Capitalism, democracies and liberalism took in the criticism and improved. In the meantime, the communism-inspired totalitarian states that Marxist-inspired thinkers turned a blind eye on, deteriorated and failed. China is the inescapable exception, but to survive, thrive, and lift millions from poverty, took a hybrid approach, incorporating principles from Capitalism and pushing for an industrialist model that would make Marx sweat.
I’m being unfair. Some Marxists have criticized communist states. Deng Xiaoping, for example, criticized Mao and eventually led China toward the market reforms that cemented its economic modernization. Leon Trotsky, Antonio Gramsci, Enrico Berlinguer, Santiago Carrillo, Georges Marchais
OBJECTED.
And then there’s the Frankfurt School. Remember, the Frankfurt school? It’s delicate elegance, the beauty of critical theory, Max Horkheimer, Theodor Adorno,
como su nombre lo indica
its bright ambition.
The Frankfurt’s School critical theory was ambitious: it wanted to uncover the hidden forces in culture, media, and society that perpetuate inequality, domination, and alienation. They believed that by critiquing all aspects of society—art, culture, philosophy, economics—they could reveal how Capitalist societies manipulate consciousness to maintain the status quo. Their critiquing didn’t mean criticizing and poking holes at things. It meant looking carefully,
looking lovingly,
and revealing the forms.
Their work spanned a wide range of topics, from the commodification of culture to the psychological impacts of consumerism. They argued that the entertainment industry pacifies the masses, creating a uniform and passive consumer base rather than fostering critical thinking or genuine artistic expression.
Which, fair enough.
After the rise of Nazism, many Frankfurt School thinkers fled to the United States, where they faced new challenges. To survive and maintain their academic positions in American universities, they often had to temper their Marxist rhetoric. As they became more established, there was a shift from broader social critique to more narrow cultural criticism. Their focus drifted into more esoteric areas, like analyzing film or literature. Adorno, in particular, became infamous for his harsh critiques of jazz, film, and popular culture. While these critiques had intellectual merit, they also began to feel disconnected from the lived realities of the working class or from any actionable political strategy.
Ironically, the Frankfurt School, which started as a critique of power and ideology, a construction as stylish and refined as lace, ended up becoming a staple in academic institutions, part of the very system they once sought to critique. Their theories became fashionable, but their direct influence on revolutionary movements waned. Instead, their influence sparked the birth of criticism of cultural expressions as a form of journalism.
You know, food critics, film critics, and that sort.
There’s always people like Roger Ebert who get it. There’s always critical thinkers. But the Frankfurt School let critical theory devolve from intellectual beauty into a lot of empty criticism without any thinking. It promised a tasteful eye like Steve Jobs’. Instead it gave us Yelp reviewers and internet trolls.
To think that it all started two thousand five hundred years ago in Athens, with Plato, and the metaphorical cave.
For roughly two thousand one hundred years, humanity had the dialectic method as its sole tool for systematic innovation.
For roughly two thousand one hundred years, knowing what to ask
(knowing how to look)
was the only way to systematically innovate.
Plato formalized dialectics as a method of inquiry and philosophical discourse. Aristotle, Plato’s student, took dialectics further by developing formal logic—a systematic way of reasoning that became the foundation of scientific inquiry. His “Organon” laid down principles of deductive reasoning, forming the basis for scientific methods. He used dialectical reasoning to categorize knowledge, define scientific principles, and establish frameworks for empirical observation. Aristotle’s dialectics involved both deductive and inductive methods, emphasizing the importance of observation and evidence, which would heavily influence scientific practices during the Renaissance and Enlightenment.
From there we got Archimedes’ mechanical inventions, like the screw and the compound pulley system. We got Euclidean geometry. We got Roman engineering and infrastructure, with its roads, concrete, aqueducts, and the arch. We got Algebra, Algorithms, and Optics. We got the astrolabe and precise sundials. We got mechanical clocks and eyeglasses. We got the printing press. We got the telescope. We got Leonardo’s crazy inventions. We got Copernicus with the heliocentric model and modern Astronomy. We got Galileo showing off by improving on the telescope and coming up with a proto-microscope called occhiolino.
We got calculus.
All by asking the right questions.
Asking the right questions is a paramount tenet in Silicon Valley. You have Peter Thiel and some of his famous thought-provoking questions, like “What valuable company is nobody building?” or “What important truth do very few people agree with you on?” You have Tim Ferriss asking “If this were easy, what would it look like?” or “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“What would you do if you had unlimited resources?”
“If this were fun, what would it be like?”
“What will you regret not doing?”
“What’s your unfair advantage?”
“How can we 10x this?”
“Why now?”
“Why?”
These questions are designed to provoke deeper thinking and innovation by challenging assumptions and pushing boundaries. They shift focus from incremental improvements to imagining new possibilities. The goal is to identify opportunities overlooked by others, unlock creative potential, and encourage risk-taking. They embody the dialectical spirit—probing and questioning established norms to reveal new insights and solutions, echoing the historical method of systematically innovating through asking the right questions. It’s Silicon Valley’s modern take on a tradition that began with Plato and Aristotle.
Marc Andreessen, a famous Silicon Valley investor, doesn’t waste time with “good vs. bad” investments; he’s all about “good vs. great.” At A16Z, they use Red Teams to stress test deals like it’s a military mission. They debate, challenge, and tear apart potential investments to ensure they’re rock-solid, knowing a VC bet isn’t a casual fling—it’s a decade-long commitment. Unlike stock traders, they can’t just back out or jump to competitors. If the GP still believes in the deal after all that grilling, A16Z gives it the green light.
Red Teams, originally from the military, simulate enemy forces to test strategies. In companies, they function similarly, acting as hackers or competitors to poke holes and expose vulnerabilities, ensuring nothing crumbles under pressure.
Asking the right questions can also make you a lot of money. Charlie Munger and Warren Buffet use inversion thinking to make investment decisions. Instead of asking “how can I succeed?” they ask “how can I avoid failure?” Inversion is most commonly used to identify risks, avoid mistakes, and consider worst case scenarios. However, you can also use it as a form of cognitive disruption to deconstruct the scripts
(or narratives, or automatic stories)
that run on our minds. So it’s a little bit of “what if the opposite was true?” but it’s also a little bit of “can I see this from a different perspective?”
If I find myself caught up in confrontational situations, when I find the clarity of mind (sometimes after I lost my shit, whether inside or outside my head,) I like to take a step back away from the “them vs me” mindset and ask myself the question “what would it take for both (or all) of us to be happy?” or even “is this really important to me?” When neither of these questions work, usually “will I care about this in a month?” does the trick. Because sometimes we get entangled in stuff we really don’t give two fucks about, and when you start to ask the right questions, you lose a lot of worries and anxieties because in general, the things we truly care about are just a few.
One narrative we easily get caught up in is “I’m the good guy” and that sometimes includes “I’m the victim.” We do that because we want to like ourselves. Have you noticed how some serial killers build a whole fairy tale around why their victims had it coming? Even serial killers want to somehow be the good guy, the cool guy, the god-like guy.
Anything but the bad guy.
If you live long enough and if you are lucky enough, one day, when you are in your thirties, you’ll be in the shower and, out of nowhere, you’ll recall an incident from your high school days. An incident where you had thought you were the victim, somehow. There, as the hot water pours on your head while cold sweat invades your chest you’ll realize
I was the asshole.
I wonder if that’s how it happened for Robert Venturi. Venturi was an (award winning) architect of his time. He designed homes and buildings with functionality and simplicity in mind, guided by the mottos less is more and form follows function. He was a modernist in modern times. Until one day (I imagine, maybe in the shower,) he asked himself
is less really more?
Whether he asked this question or not, his answer was
no!
His answer was
less is bore
and he proceeded to revolutionize the world of architecture with his book Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture.
He proposed an architecture less homogeneous and more representative of
the difficult whole.
He made a case for bringing the questions from inside
—our minds but also our society, and specifically, the location a building might be at—
and expressing them outside, making room for an architecture and a landscape less rigid and more representative of its space and time.
He drew inspiration from places and people as diverse as Las Vegas
(horrifying the architectural establishment, which had a moment of collectively “needing its salts”)
and Michelangelo. Love him or hate him, he challenged the status quo and became an undeniable influence in the way contemporary architects see buildings and the world.
In simple terms, opposition comes up as a realization
this sucks!
Once that idea surfaces in our mind, we usually have one of three reactions. We simply stay uncomfortable, forever cranky at the world. Kinda like comedians. Have you ever seen Seinfeld in action?
Another common reaction is
let’s break everything!
like teens, Marxists, and the punk movement.
And finally, the contrarian reaction is
there has to be another way!
Who knew Kevin O’Leary, Mr Wonderful himself, would be the one to bring measure to our chapter.
O’Leary, with his famous one-liner, invites us to step out of our merely oppositional mindset and look at things differently. He challenges us to notice the gaps between what is and what could be, and he dares to move beyond protest.
He dares us to move beyond being a whiny NPC.
Similarly, Peter Thiel emphasizes not just opposing the status quo but also imagining a radically different and better world. He encourages thinking beyond simple contrarianism by envisioning entirely new possibilities—worlds that are innovative, colorful, and ecologically sustainable. Thiel’s brand of contrarianism isn’t about rejecting for rejection’s sake; it’s about constructing bridges to alternative futures. By challenging conventional assumptions, he aims to guide us toward a more diverse, thriving, and transformative reality that pushes the boundaries of what’s possible.
You can use opposition constructively. You don’t have to stay stuck in the
everything sucks
phase.
It’s great to be a contrarian—embrace it! But after you’ve spotted what’s wrong, the next step is to move forward and build something better. Take a page from Plato and Aristotle: engage with the opposing view, find the insights, and create something new. Use contrarianism to uncover hidden possibilities, not as rebellion for rebellion’s sake. Turn curiosity into action.
Stop whining from the sidelines.
Never bitch about money
Never bitch.
I bet Paul Graham never bitches.
Paul Graham is a programmer, entrepreneur, and co-founder of Y Combinator. Known for his influential essays, he writes awesome essays that provide sharp insights into startups, innovation, and the psychology of success. His thought leadership emphasizes the importance of questioning norms, the value of persistence, and the art of solving complex problems with creativity and resilience. In one of his latest articles
(one that hit close to home)
he made a distinction between persistence and obstinacy. He reflected on the difference between flexible, productive perseverance and rigid, counterproductive stubbornness. Persistent people, according to Graham, possess a blend of energy, imagination, resilience, good judgment, and a clear focus on a goal. This dynamic combination allows them to adapt and refine their approach when obstacles arise, remaining open to feedback and alternative perspectives. In contrast, obstinate people lack this adaptability. Their focus is fixed not on the goal itself but on their initial ideas, leading them to resist change even when confronted with new information. Graham likens them to boats with immovable rudders; they keep moving but in rigid and ineffective ways, particularly when complex or unforeseen challenges emerge.
Louis Pasteur is a prime example of persistence. While he was known for his combative temperament, he exemplified a methodical and adaptable approach. Pasteur’s work spanned various fields, from developing vaccines for anthrax and rabies to understanding fermentation and microbial contamination. His experiments on fermentation, for instance, involved testing processes at different altitudes and temperatures, demonstrating his systematic, iterative approach. His drive wasn’t just intellectual; he saw opportunities in business and adapted his methods to address practical issues, like the spoilage of beer and wine. His ability to experiment in numerous ways, refine his approach, and repeatedly validate his findings across various conditions was central to his success.
Pasteur’s pragmatic and business-savvy nature also played a role. His most groundbreaking discoveries, such as pasteurization, emerged from serendipitous opportunities when he was asked to solve specific industry problems. Unlike Pasteur’s fluid and strategic adaptability, Ignaz Semmelweis, known for advocating handwashing in medical settings, was rigid in his approach. Semmelweis’s discoveries were scientifically sound—handwashing significantly reduced infection rates—but his delivery was inflexible and intense. Faced with a medical establishment unwilling to change, his reaction was to double down on his position without considering more diplomatic or strategic approaches. The urgency he felt, seeing lives lost, made it difficult for him to maintain the cool-headed persistence that Pasteur displayed.
Pasteur’s repeated experimentation, systematic validation, and adaptability exemplify the deeper structure of persistence. He understood that to prove a point, one must try different methods, adapt, and respond to challenges fluidly. Semmelweis, in contrast, shows how inflexibility, even when championing simple, life-or-death truths, can lead to failure.
Deadly, avoidable failure.
It’s not enough to be right. It’s not enough to fight the good fight. You have to fight the good fight
well.
Even when you are fighting for the simplest things, like handwashing or the existence of understanding and concepts.
A simple thing I sometimes enjoy is seeing the world through playful frameworks. One of my favorites is the Dungeons & Dragons alignment system. Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) uses an alignment system to categorize characters’ moral and ethical perspectives. There are nine alignments, combining elements of law versus chaos and good versus evil. For instance, “Lawful Good” characters prioritize structure and morality, while “Chaotic Neutral” characters value freedom and personal choice, unconcerned with broader rules.
The D&D alignment system is built on two intersecting axes. The first axis, Law versus Chaos, represents how characters approach order and autonomy. Lawful characters favor rules, structure, and tradition, valuing stability. They might be heroes protecting justice or villains imposing oppressive control. On the opposite side, Chaotic characters prize freedom, autonomy, and individuality, sometimes rebelling against or dismissing established systems. Those who are Neutral on this axis walk a middle path, recognizing the value of order but not feeling entirely bound by it.
The second axis, Good versus Evil, measures morality and selflessness. Good characters act with compassion and altruism, prioritizing the welfare of others, even at personal cost. Evil characters, by contrast, pursue their desires, power, or chaos, often exploiting others. Neutral characters fall in between, acting mainly in self-interest but avoiding unnecessary harm. They are often practical, balancing survival over extreme moral stances.
These two dimensions combine to create nine alignments: Lawful Good, Neutral Good, Chaotic Good, Lawful Neutral, True Neutral, Chaotic Neutral, Lawful Evil, Neutral Evil, and Chaotic Evil. True Neutral to maintain balance without leaning toward extremes. This neutrality often makes them hesitant, as taking decisive action for good
(or evil)
demands a commitment and a willingness to be wrong—something they avoid.
Something I avoid.
Let’s apply this framework to some real-life contrarians and truth-fighters. Aaron Swartz, Richard Stallman, and Linus Torvalds, are all iconic figures in tech, each embodying distinct philosophies and approaches within the technology landscape. When their personalities are viewed through the D&D alignment framework, they reveal the diversity in approaches to opposition within tech. These men, representing movements such as digital activism and open-source development, align differently based on their principles, methods, and impact.
Aaron Swartz (Chaotic Good): A prodigy and digital rights activist, Aaron Swartz championed free access to information. He co-founded Reddit and contributed to the development of RSS. Swartz was driven by a deep moral compass and a commitment to freedom and transparency, yet his approach was often rebellious and unstructured. Like a Chaotic Good character, he opposed rigid systems, valuing autonomy and change over conformity. His battle with academic and government institutions, however, showed the danger of unchecked opposition. Swartz downloaded millions of academic articles from JSTOR, believing in open access to knowledge. The government responded harshly, charging him with multiple felonies that carried decades in prison and hefty fines. The severity of these charges highlighted the system’s rigidity and punitive stance—bordering on Lawful Evil—resulting in unbearable pressure. Swartz died by suicide in 2013. When rigid opposing forces collide, the escalation can be irrational and the destruction can be senseless, especially when systemic power meets youthful idealism.
Governments and academic institutions often embody a Lawful Neutral stance—they uphold structure and consensus, ensuring order. In Swartz’s case, however, the government’s punitive measures bordered on Lawful Evil, as opposition without flexibility can result in undue harm. This dynamic shows that when opposition is unbalanced, the result is sheer destruction
on both sides
where humanity loses.
Richard Stallman (Chaotic Neutral): Stallman, as the founder of the free software movement, champions absolute freedom in software development. His alignment as Chaotic Neutral reflects his fierce independence and his refusal to accept any form of constraint. Stallman believes software should be free for anyone to use, modify, and distribute, and he opposes any form of proprietary software, which he views as inherently unjust. His vision, however, is so uncompromising that he advocates for a system where no one profits from software development, while paradoxically relying on donations and support from others to sustain his work.
Stallman’s contributions, such as the GNU Project, laid the foundation for the open-source ecosystem, yet his staunch opposition to monetization limits his influence. He refuses to engage with the practicalities of sustainable development or the realities of an economy where people need to make a living. His insistence on maintaining total ideological purity often alienates potential allies and stifles progress. Radical opposition, when detached from pragmatic goals, can turn into an isolated crusade that fails to build meaningful, scalable change.
Linus Torvalds (Lawful Neutral/Chaotic Good): Torvalds navigates between structure and freedom, blending radical Lawful Neutral and Chaotic Good traits. His most well-known contribution is Linux, an open-source operating system kernel that has become the backbone of servers, smartphones (Android), and countless other systems. He questioned the dominance of proprietary giants like Microsoft, not by attacking them directly but by offering an open, collaborative alternative. Linux’s modular design allows developers worldwide to contribute, creating an ever-evolving, adaptable ecosystem. His practical approach shows how balanced contrarianism can yield a sustainable, transformative impact and how opposition can be navigated productively. As a result of his measured approach, he created lasting, impactful change without the sheer conflict that plagued Swartz and Stallman.
Opposition has shaped much of the world’s intellectual and creative landscape, from Schopenhauer’s intense antagonism to Hegel, to the dialectics of Marxism that fueled the conflicts of the last 150 years. In contrast, American Contrarians, Transcendentalism and thinkers like John Muir sought a different path, using opposition as a way to connect with deeper truths. Richard Strauss and the Frankfurt School remind us of the complexities and subtleties of resistance—sometimes quiet and cultural, sometimes empty and critical, like today’s internet trolls.
Yet, Silicon Valley offers a more hopeful approach. By reimagining opposition as a tool for innovation rather than destruction, figures like Peter Thiel and Marc Andreessen encourage not just contrarianism, but progress. They ask the right questions, turning critique into opportunity and creating something new from what seems broken. In this spirit, opposition becomes a force for building diverse, thriving futures, showing that while conflict is inevitable,
transformation is a choice.
Irreducible.
– Opposition is a vital force in science, art, and life—just like adolescence is essential for adulthood.
– Opposition can be dialectical (broad, global resistance) or essential (focused, contrarian standpoints).
– It may be reactive (like Schopenhauer) or reflective (like Marc Andreessen or Charlie Munger).
– Opposition can explode (terrorism, extreme activism) or be systematic (Louis Pasteur, Semmelweis with hand washing).
– It might be rigid (Aaron Swartz), chaotic (Richard Stallman), or balanced (Linus Torvalds).
– All forms of opposition have the potential to create meaningful change or cause harm. Recognizing the type and adapting is key.
I am publishing the first chapter of the book as a treat to my readers. It was published last November 2024. You can buy the Kindle version here.
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